Therefore, the Pharaohs married their sisters, just as "air" and "rain," "earth" and "sky," Osiris and Isis, Set and Nephthys united.

Therefore, what concerned the Pharaoh most at this moment was the unborn infant.

The Pharaoh was convinced that his ancestors were as powerful as gods—no, to be precise, his ancestors were gods.

Theoretically speaking, he was also a god.

According to the teachings priests preached to the public, he was not only a descendant of gods, not only the chief priest, not only the mediator between gods and mortals, but also the incarnation of a god, a god walking among mortals.

Therefore, he possessed supreme authority, his words were the will of the gods, all matters could be decided by his command, and all people worshiped him as they would a god.

But the Pharaoh knew very well he was not a god.

Because he did not have divine power.

He did not; his father did not; his siblings did not. His family had not birthed a child with divine power for many years.

Now, they were just mortals. At most, mortals with divine lineage.

And mortals were unworthy of ruling the land of the gods.

In the back hall, the seemingly endless screams reached a peak and then abruptly stopped.

The cries of a baby followed.

The Pharaoh immediately burst through the door.

"[Ancient Ipt Language] A boy, my lord," an old woman cradling a wrinkled, purplish-red infant, knelt by the bedside, looking at her master obsequiously, "[Ancient Ipt Language] A boy, a healthy boy."

The Pharaoh snatched the baby from the old slave's arms, turned, and rushed out of the back hall, without even glancing at the woman on the bed.

In the center of the temple, seven priests had been waiting by the Holy Pool for a long time.

The Pharaoh stepped into the Chaotic Water, placed the crying infant on the cold stone platform in the center of the Holy Pool, then left the pool and nodded towards the priests.

When the water's surface returned to calm, the seven priests began to perform the ritual.

They chanted in unison, their throats producing a wailing, melodious sound, unlike human speech, more like the roar of beasts.

The Pharaoh stared intently at the pool.

However, the surface remained motionless, smooth as a mirror.

Until the ritual ended, not a ripple appeared in the Holy Pool.

The Pharaoh clenched his fist.

To continue the blood of the Heavenly God, he had even coupled with his half-sister.

But even so, he still failed to obtain an heir with divine power.

Is a god defined by power? Or by bloodline?

A god without divine power, is still a god?

The wind whistled through the temple colonnade, making a thin, dense, eerie noise, which to the Pharaoh, sounded like the murmurs of slaves.

The royal family had lost divine power, but the divine blood was not severed; those with divine power continued to appear, just not born in the Pharaoh's harem.

These "divine blood" among common people were either taken by priests or recruited by nobles.

Rumors had begun to spread, people said: On the Throne sits a pretender; the real god will soon replace him.

The priests respectfully retreated from the Holy Pool, but in the Pharaoh's eyes, their mouths unmistakably wore sly smiles.

The royal family had lost divine power, but the divine blood was not severed; those with divine power continued to appear, just not born in the Pharaoh's harem.

Who could have thought, leaving this temple, that the King, embodying a god, was merely a mortal?

And these priests serving a "god," could they wield divine power?

The Pharaoh stood motionless for a long time.

Where would his dynasty go?

Would it crumble and fall with the disappearance of divine power, like all the dynasties that once appeared on this land?

The infant's cries jolted the Pharaoh from his deep thoughts, this poor little creature was suffering from cold, loudly demanding milk.

The Pharaoh stepped into the Chaotic Water and picked up his child from the stone platform.

Looking at the child's wrinkled face, an unprecedented emotion was awakened in his chest.

He gently held his child carefully, warming him with his body.

He walked towards the back hall.

He had to change all this.

-----------------

Several hundred years passed again.

The west bank of the Toryad Peninsula.

The long-term siege laid by the Achaeans on the capital city of Troy had reached its final stage.

The most valiant of the Achaeans, the fleet-footed hero, full of wrath, drove his chariot alone to the enemy's city gates.

The long spear crafted from the ash wood of Perion shook menacingly on his right shoulder; the gleaming breastplate shone brilliantly, like the newborn sun.

"[Ancient Mycenaean] Come out!!!" his roar even made the god-forged city walls tremble, "[Ancient Mycenaean] Face me!!!"

In the city-states along the coast of the Earth Core Sea, children displaying special talents would receive more attention from a young age.

Priests would offer them the offerings enjoyed by the gods—meat and innards roasted with a double oil net.

Thus, their growth potential was fully unleashed.

Compared to the malnourished ordinary people of their time, they were usually a head, or even two, taller and physically stronger.

Walking among mortals, they shone like deities.

People said they were the offspring left on earth after the affectionate gods frolicked with mortals.

Therefore, people called them—"demigods."

The city gate slowly opened.

The most battle-hardened among the Dardanians, the horse tamer with the shining helmet, holding a large shield and spear, wearing equally radiant armor, strode out.